


Don't Close Your Eyes

by CrayolaDinosaurs



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: POV First Person, Post Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-30
Updated: 2012-05-30
Packaged: 2017-11-06 06:58:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/416054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrayolaDinosaurs/pseuds/CrayolaDinosaurs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mary leaves John a letter before she goes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Close Your Eyes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AppliedMethodology](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AppliedMethodology/gifts).



John-

I honestly didn’t notice it until about the seventeenth month of us sleeping together. Looking back, it should have been obvious from day one. I knew when I met you that you were still reeling from the loss of your best friend and flatmate. I knew that you loved him. I knew because you told me, looked me in the eye and said that I should walk away because you were broken. I grabbed your chin and told you to stop being a wanker. But really, that should have been the thing that tipped me off, because at that moment you were looking at me. You look at me all the time; when we talk, when we dance, when we eat. It’s the steady eye contact of someone completely at ease or at least the eye contact of someone who was sincere. Still, it took me almost a year and a half to notice that there was one instance where you never, not once, looked at me. It took me another couple of months to figure out why.

It was the night of our first wedding anniversary that it finally hit me. We had just had some slightly better than average sex, during which you kept your eyes closed firmly.  You rolled off of me and lie on your back breathing heavily, arm thrown over your face. I started to ask you something and you shushed me. You actually shushed me. On our anniversary. I stared at you, slack-jawed, as you waited for your breathing to slow. When it returned to normal, and your pulse had done the same, you moved your arm and turned back to me. You leaned forward and kissed me, soft, almost chaste. In that instant, a switch flipped in my brain. How had I missed this? Of course you couldn’t look at me during sex. It would shatter the illusion. How could you possibly pretend I was the lanky dark-haired man you were pining for when the evidence to the contrary was staring you in the face?

It’s been, let’s see, another year and a half, or so, since then, and yet, here we are. Last night, Sherlock came back from the dead. Last night, the thing you’d been praying for happened. Last night, we had the most mind-blowing sex I’ve had, I don’t know, ever. I was boneless, coming down from orgasmic highs, and you actually took to the bathroom to shut down your fantasies. You were ashamed, I think, of what you’d done. And, sitting here, watching you read the paper and eat your toast as I drink my morning coffee, I can’t help but wonder when this became my life. When did I start making small talk with my husband, the man I love, both of us steadfastly ignoring the fact that you imagined fucking your raised-from-the-dead best friend the night before?

That’s what it comes down to though, isn’t it? I love you. You’re an idiot and I’m a fool, but, God, I love you. And I want you near me enough to overlook the fact that you don’t want me. I have somehow managed to disregard the fact that if he hadn’t faked his death, you wouldn’t be here. You might not be fucking him, but you sure as hell wouldn’t be fucking me.

I’ve been foolish and ridiculous. I’ve held on so long knowing you weren’t there. And dear lord, I can’t. I can’t wait anymore. I’ve been hoping for years now that your memories would die. Just once, I wanted you to let it be me. But you love him. You always have. You love him even more than I love you. His death couldn’t weaken it. His resurrection couldn’t either. So, I don’t know why I thought I could.

And, darling, don’t for a second think I blame you. You can’t help who you fall in love with, after all. But I have to salvage the shreds of dignity I have left. I was a strong woman once, an independent woman, and as much as I love you, I deserve more than this.

I hope this doesn’t cause you any undue pain, and I hope you don’t regret anything, and, most of all, I hope you’ll be happy again, chasing after that lunatic, the way you never really could be with me. If you would, though, do something for me. Tell him. And once you’ve told him, fight for him. And once you have him, never let go. And when he holds you at night, please, don’t close your eyes.

All my love, my darling man,

Mary


End file.
